Seven Deadly Sins
by HandwrittenStories
Summary: Seven drabbles featuring the Leviathan characters all featured around one of the seven deadly sins. Reviews would be lovely. All rights to Scott Westerfeld.
1. Lust

I am in no way shape or form, under any circumstances for any reason, in love with Adela Rogers.

I just admire her work as a journalist, she definitely knows how to write a decent article, even if she does work for Hearst. What I wouldn't give to have someone like her working for the _World_.

If we were together-

In a strictly business relationship of course.

But if she came to work for the World then we could be the largest paper in the states.

I blush looking over at the Californian reporter, she scribbles on a notepad writing down what makes her stories so captivating. Like her-

A great writer is always captivating.

Rusty hops onto my own notes croaking, completely unaware that I'm gaping at some woman that I'm supposed to be rivals with. I'm supposed to be stealing the latest stories from her hands, her extremely elegant and nimble hands-

Not that I have any particular opinion on them.

She looks up to check the time on the clock, which just so happens to be hanging over my head.

"Malone?" she stands up coming over to Rusty and me with a look to kill, "This is pretty low even for you, following me here so you could steal the Russian ambassador story from me,"

"I wasn't-"

"Don't give me that. Your boss must be pretty desperate sending someone like you out to do his dirty work,"

"Now wait a minute!" I snap, "Can't someone sit down for a minute without being some sort of criminal?" Adela flushes clenching her jaw in an unbecoming way-

Not that I would care.

She hmphs and walks out leaving her notepad on the cafe table. I tell myself I won't pick it up, instead I try to focus on drinking my cup of coffee. Adela doesn't return for her notes, unlike me she still writes everything down it seems. She might even be a monkey luddite, not that it would matter to me-

Because America utilizes both fabrications and mechanics.

I look down at Rusty who sits contentedly on next to my notes. "I'll just pick them up in case she comes back," I tell him.

Half an hour passes and she doesn't show. I wait with Rusty drinking more cups of coffee until I'm a jittery bundle of nerves. I decide to take a peek at what's she's written, just a tiny look.

Her handwriting is so neat and elegant, the delicate crosses of her Ts. The way each L loops and the faint dots over each I. It's beautiful -

Any handwriting teacher would say that. It's exemplary penmanship.

Another forty minutes pass and it looks like she won't be coming back for her exquisitely written notes. I lift Rusty up and place him on my shoulder, "Looks like we're going to pay a visit to Adela- I mean Ms. Rodgers," I say scratching him under his chin. He gives me an answering croak as we walk out the door.

But then again, she might not take very kindly to her rival bringing it to her.

_I'm just being polite I tell myself, anyone else would do it_. My confidence rises and I set off for Hearst's offices.

No, I'm not in love at all.


	2. Greed

"You'll be making around twice what you are now," Fitzroy explained,"and you'll be allowed three weeks leave in winter,"

"Only twice as much?" the young man asked "the Orion factory offered me triple,"

"Well you see, we can't pay as much because we allow leave," Fitzroy explained patiently. He'd been negotiating with this man for nearly twenty minutes, he wouldn't have even gone this far if he wasn't so desperate to add men to his work crew at the factory.

"Well that's no excuse," the twenty year old scoffed. He took out an expensive looking pocket watch and noted the time.

"And why not? Between you and that woman Sarah you've put down as living in your company you should be able to manage a comfortable life style," Many women were entering the workforce recently, most couples could still make ends meet on the income of a single factory worker.

How things had changed since he'd last stood aboard an airship.

"Oh, it seems that she isn't living in the same residence as I am anymore," the young man smirked pushing his unkempt brown hair from his eyes.

"Then who was the woman that you left waiting outside my office?" He'd insisted on having tea served to her while they went inside the office to discuss business.

"My new companion, I think her name is Emily," but I might be wrong,"

Fitzroy frowned, he could at least remember the name of the woman he was seeing. This man, no boy was a better word, was one of the rudest people he'd ever met. He brought to mind a certain midshipman he'd encountered aboard the Leviathan, a boy named Dylan Sharp. He'd been a cocky lad, strutting around with an ego so heavy that it nearly brought the ship tumbling to the ground.

"Mind if I smoke?" the man asked lighting a cigar. The younger Fitzroy would have made a snide remark back when he was still a potential soldier, someone to defend the country against Clankers. Now he was just another injured veteran trying to find a way to make money with an injured leg. Hence the factory crew in a country he once wanted to wipe off the map.

"Of course not," he brought out a contract and pen "Now about your contract," he pushed it across the table hoping he'd been able to secure another pair of hands.

"Yes I've decided to decline," he said getting up from the table blowing smoke across the desk.

"What?" Fitzroy's throat turned dry, they wouldn't be able to operate without at least one more set of hands. It'd already been three weeks since their last crewman had to retire after a mishap with one of the machines. If they didn't start production soon nobody would be paid that week.

"Like I said the Orion factory offered me more. How else am I to pay for a house in the wealthy district?" he dropped the half-burnt cigar on the carpet stomping it out. "I'll be back though, when I own this company," he let the door swing open and left without bothering to shut it.

Fitzroy combed a hand through his messy hair, he could kiss his position as head of his work crew goodbye now. How did things turn out so horribly wrong?


	3. Gluttony

Jaspert sat happily with his bag of sweets under the family's oak tree. The grass was soft under his legs and the sun had finally broken through the clouds, he reached into the bag and pulled out a piece of toffee. He took a bite enjoying the sugary treat he'd found waiting for him in the kitchen that morning.  
"What's that?" Deryn walked up to her older brother.  
"It's mine," he huffed snatching the bag away from her little fingers.  
"I want to see," she reached for the sweet in his hand  
"Get off!" he said pulling the ribbon out of her blonde hair. The little girl fell backwards onto her bum and burst into tears.  
"Why are you so mean?" she wailed.  
"H-hey, don't be such a baby," Jaspert said "You're two years old, you... you shouldn't be crying over this,"  
"But you always push me!" she tried to smear the tears away from her face, "I'm telling ma!"  
"Wait! Don't!" Jaspert grasped her hand. If his mother found out he'd done anything to Deryn Jaspert would be in deep trouble. "Here," he placed a few candies in her hand.  
She sniffed looking at the brightly colored jellies in her palm, "Where did you get these?" she asked  
"I think Da left them," he stuffed a few peppermints in his mouth.  
Deryn bit into her sweet rubbing the last tear from her face. "It taste like strawberries!" she exclaimed.  
"Do they?" Jaspert smiled at his little sister. She nodded eating the rest.  
"Deryn!" their mother appeared in the doorway "Come inside for a nap!"  
"I don't want to!" she pouted .  
"_Now_ Deryn!" the toddler huffed getting to her feet, "Bye bye Jaspert," she rubbed the top of his head.  
Jaspert smirked pulling out another piece of toffee.

He kept steadily eating his candy. Brittle, gum drops, sweetened slices of fruit. He kept eating enjoying the overly sweet taste. He found a string of licorice and amused himself with tying it into knots and stuffing the tangle into his mouth.  
The bag's supply dwindled and Jaspert began to feel his stomach protest. He ignored it and kept wolfing down his treats.  
As the sun moved further along the sky Jaspert's belly began to feel like it would split open. He finally put the bag down and lay on his back. His hands rested on his sore stomach trying to relieve some of the pressure.  
"Jaspert?" Deryn came out and tried to rouse her elder brother. He groaned shutting his eyes.  
Deryn sat down and helped herself to the rest of his candy.


	4. Envy

The child is smaller than I would have thought. He hardly weighs anything in my arms as I hold him. His head is covered in soft brown hair like his father's but eyes the same shade as his mother's. When I play with him on a blanket spread over the lawn he smiles.  
He's a sweet little boy, Alek and Deryn's son. His name is Ernst, a very Austrian name.

He's asleep now, taking a nap in the shade of the tree we sit under. His little stomach rises and falls evenly, the tiny thumb of his left hand in his mouth. I look at him resting peacefully and wish he was mine.  
I'll never have my own children, neither will the woman I make my home with.  
I'll never sit with a child who has long lashes and dark brown eyes. Jenna won't bathe dusky skin and lay a small bundle in a crib. She says she doesn't mind, but sometimes I wish that we had a baby of our own. A third member to our family.  
Being able to watch as they grow and learn to speak and walk. Raising them with stories of the grandfather who died to better the country we live in. Showing them how to pilot a walker while Jenna teaches them to read. Watching them grow up and do what they love.  
A child to nurture and laugh with. To be part of the family Jenna and I have made. Our own little one to play with Alek and Deryn's child.

Little Ernst wakes from his afternoon nap and stretches his arms up. I pick him up and l et him wrap his hand around my fingers. He smiles as I bounce his gently. I pretend that he's my own for a moment, I'll take him to our home and sit with Jenna for a while before putting him to bed.

Ernst giggles and I smile. If I had a child I'd want them to be just as happy, and my own.  
Jenna often pesters me to simply find an orphan child and take them in. But I really want to know that the baby is ours. To be completely from us.  
Ernst lets go of my hand and tries to reach out for me. I pull him closer and he tries to wrap his arms around my neck. I smile at the display of affection wishing Jenna was here to enjoy this baby's company. She'd say how attached he's become to me and that I've become his mother. In my mind I have, for now.  
A church bell rings announcing that we've stayed far past the time we should. I messily fold up the blanket with my one hand and drape it over my arm. I tuck Ernst under my arm and begin the long walk back to Alek and Deryn's home.  
But for now I can still pretend.


	5. Wrath

The knife sunk into the board three inches from the target. "Still not good enough," Newkirk huffed picking up another blade, he threw it at the board he was practicing on. This time it landed near the edge of the board nearly missing it completely. He growled ripping them from the board. It wasn't good enough, after all this time he still wasn't good enough!

Newkirk threw the knife again, this time it hit the center of the target. He'd hit it, but still felt dissatisfied. It took too long, everyone would be dead already.

He took the second knife and tossed it aside sending it into a corner. His legs weakened and he fell onto the floor.

_I'm sorry_, he thought _I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry_. He shook with a dry sob, _I'm sorry I could save you Catherine_ .

Because it was his fault that she'd been killed by the unknown man who came to their family's home and demanded that the deserter show his face. He'd been too weak to keep him from killing Newkirk's youngest relative.

Since then he'd spent the year trying to get stronger. Learning how to shoot an array of guns, how to fight with a knife and with his bare hands. But he couldn't master knife throwing, the skill that could have saved little Catherine. If he'd been able to plunge a blade into the man Catherine could still be alive.

_Get up you sissy_, Newkirk told himself, What's moping going to help? He forced himself to get to his feet, he needed to practice more if he was going to get stronger. That's all he had driving him now, getting revenge.

To get revenge Newkirk intended to become a murderer.

The knife sunk into the target again, right at the center. But that was the easy part, the center. After he got the hand of hitting the bullseye he'd have to practice hitting the outmost ring of the board, then a moving target. Because the man would run, coward.

He threw the last knife. It sunk in further than the others.

Newkirk smiled, it seemed like he was making progress.

The man had been an expert with short blades, the kind that people carried for protection in questionable parts of the city. The same blade that filled the target board now. Getting revenge with the same weapon that taken the life of Catherine definitely had its appeal. But the man was taller and more muscular, to kill him Newkirk would have to be swifter and faster. Able to hide behind his opponents huge back all while dodging blows.

To do that it would take practice, and practice meant having free time. It wasn't a problem, using time he used to fill with military service and the sleepness nights allowed him to perfect many skills he'd need.

Newkirk pulled the last knife out of the scarred piece of wood tucking the last one into his coat pocket. It fit perfectly.

He stepped outside where the wind made him pull his jacked closer and keep his head down. He walked along until he came across a general store, _I need cigarettes don't I?_ he thought.

Inside he picked up a package and put them on the counter with some money. Another customer walked in behind him, "Hey mate, are those any good?"

"I don't-" Newkirk turned and felt his heart come to a screeching halt.

It was the man who'd killed Catherine.


	6. Pride

"But you don't understand," he said "We could take Canada, and if all goes well,the world"

"I understand completely Mr. Conroy, you want to use our creations for destruction instead of the benefit of others," Alek said pushing his hair back from his face.

"No, I want to use them to destroy the ignorant, the close-minded, all the people who want to keep the world separate and divided. You and your wife, you've created a perfect balance of technologies. Think about it , Clankers and Darwinists united as one global force. Fabrications and machines mingling in perfect harmony like your lab,the segregation of countries torn down the government completely abolished," The scientist gave him a smile like that of a madman. George Conroy looked almost identical to Nikola Tesla.

"And who would dominate this new unified world?" Alek asked. This man was truly insane; barging into the lab in which he and Deryn worked, berating them with his mad scheme about tearing down the foundation on which the world rested.

"We will of course, you and your brilliant wife will help me supervise the nations. We'll ensure that nothing like the great war ever happens again,"

"So you want to take the technologies that Deryn and I have created , not to make the lives of others convenient or as a way to slowly bring harmony to the world, but as a means of bringing yourself into power," Alek laced his fingers together and looked over the Greek cost. The waves crashed gently against the shore, in the distance Deryn observed the sea grasses they were trying to fabricate to thrive on motor oil.

"It's not solely for me Alek, it's for the benefit of the world. You and Deryn, don't you want your child to be born into a world where they won't have to witness the great powers feuding over something as foolish as what they use as a power source?" Conroy shook Alek by the shoulders "The way that the politicians are carrying on Canada might not even exist by the time your wife goes into labor!"

"So be it," Alek detached himself from the scientists grasp "If the world is going to unify technologies it can't be forced,"

"You're saying that out of your own cowardice!" Conroy's voice was rising "But if you take the hybrids you've already created and use them alongside the animals I've fabricated with human intelligence we would be unstoppable!"

Alek removed himself from the man's grip "You've given an animal the ability to reason like a human?"  
This was bad, by law Alek had to report this man to the higher authorities.

"I can handle them,"

"This isn't a matter of you being able to control your creations, it's about breaking the law and completely disrespecting the ideals of Darwinism,"

"Oh Alek, you sound like some textbook. You're a Clanker by birth anyway, you haven't been raised around these dumb beasts all your life," Conroy snorted "Hardly a challenge for me,"

"What exactly makes you think that?" Alek shouted losing his patience

"Because Alek," Conroy's tone dropped to venomous anger "Other scientists have sat by in their cowardice and left the forbidden unexplored, and all because some man thought he understood the world. But I know better, I'm not afraid of mastering the real of the unknown, I am not a coward. What about you?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline your offer Mr. Conroy," Alek said "But thank you for stopping by," he held the door open. Normally he wouldn't be so straightforward in asking someone to leave but he wanted this man gone, him and his insane ideas.

"You'll regret this Alek," Conroy stormed through the door and downstairs.


	7. Sloth

The blankets on our bed are incredibly soft. Made from the fabricated cotton that's grown in the southern united states. The fibers are fine enough to stay warm in the dead of winter, but still light enough for the heat of summer. Perfect really, for the weather here in South Africa.

I pull the blankets up to my chin burrowing under them. After staying up late studying our mechanical cacti I'm exhausted. The blankets wrap me up in a perfectly tempered warmth, sleep pulls at my eyelids begging me to stay in bed. Sunlight peeks through the curtains, a bird chirps, telling me I need to rise, see how the fabricated orchids have grown. Feed our cow and see if the milk she gives doesn't spoil, try and tinker with the mechanical plants and see if I can't get them to smell as nice as real ones. Alek and I will also need to walk the two miles to market for foodstuffs as well.

But instead of getting up to begin a day of work I snuggle into the soft mattress. Our daily routine too much right now.

I smell kamut cooking in the next room, the sweetened kind that I like the best. But the blankets pull we under.

"Deryn, I hope you know it's well past seven," Alek says. He places something on the floor, most likely breakfast.

"That's nice," I say absently.

"We should check on the flowers," he sits down at the foot of our bed.

"Yep,"

"And we need more rice and tea,"

"We do,"

"And the mechanical daisies still smell like oil and exhaust," Alek tells me.

"You're absolutely right, they're awful," I pull the blankets over my warm cacoon wrapping me up in perfect comfort.

"And you said you wanted to spend some time studying the habits of wolves," he sounds a bit resigned.

I curl up tighter in bed.I know, but don't really care. Sleep seems like the best idea.

"Are you going to do anything today?" Alek asks

"Maybe,"

"That means no doesn't it?" he asks.

I bury my face in a pillow, answering is too much work.

Alek gets up from our bed and takes the bowl away. I doze off, somewhere between dreaming and staying awake.

It isn't that long, I can tell because the room hasn't become over-warm from the midday sun, until Alek's back.

"So you're still not getting up?" he asks.

"No," I answer.

I feel the other side of the mattress dip under his weight again. For a moment warmer air rushes in as the blankets are lifted.

"Then I won't be doing anything either," he says.

And we both go back to sleep, uninterested in any sort of work.


End file.
